


miss you

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Hugs, Light Angst, M/M, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's not the first goodbye and it's not the last goodbye, it's the normal kind, the kind couples have all the time, the kind mickey never thought they'd ever have, it's the <i>i'll see you in two days</i> and <i>i'll call you every night</i>, but that doesn't mean that mickey has to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> requested by **anon** as part of the [angst prompt meme](http://distractedpainter.tumblr.com/post/82169288531/another-angsty-starters-meme) on tumblr ("Hug me please.") except i changed the dialogue a bit

“It’s only two days,” Ian said, crossing the bedroom to stand next to Mickey. He opened their dresser (well, Mickey’s dresser until a few weeks ago, when Ian’s clothes started magically appearing in the drawers. Mickey wasn’t complaining) and pulled out a few shirts and some jeans and threw them in the open duffel bag on the bed.

(Ian was going to Michigan to see some specialist with Fiona, someone who was good at dealing with cases of bipolar disorder on an individual basis and worked with people that couldn’t afford super expensive doctors, and Kev was letting them borrow the truck for the weekend, but Mickey had promised Svetlana that he’d watch Yevgeny for a couple days, so he was stuck behind in Chicago. He knew they’d be fine without him though, and Fiona and Ian had some much needed catching up to do.) 

“I know,” Mickey sighed. “I just wish I could come with you.”

Ian smiled, wide and open, the kind of smile that left Mickey feeling a little breathless. Everything about Ian took his breath away sometimes, but his stupid fucking smiles did it the most. 

“You’re gonna miss me,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with something Mickey couldn’t quite name. 

“Never fucking said that,” muttered Mickey. 

“Okay,” Ian said. “Sure. That means I don’t have to call you tonight when I get there, right?”

Mickey glared at him. “You better fucking call me. And you better call me after the appointment, too. You gotta tell me all the fucking doctor mumbo-jumbo shit.”

Ian smiled again. Mickey knew he was so fucking obvious, knew that Ian could see right through him, he was completely transparent when it came to this kid, but it didn’t scare Mickey anymore. Of course he was gonna fucking miss Ian, he was gonna worry about him, he was gonna hope with everything he had that this doctor had something helpful for Ian, but he didn’t have to say it out loud for Ian to know. He just did. 

They both jumped when Fiona rapped on the bedroom door, calling their names. Mickey had been so wrapped up in Ian’s stupidly dopey smile that he hadn’t even heard her come in the house. _Jesus._ He was gonna get robbed blind sometime, all because his dumb eyes couldn’t stay off Ian, because he couldn’t get Ian out of his head, and he used to be so careful about this kind of shit, until that night at the Alibi when he threw it all out the window, when he decided to say _fuck it_ , and he traded his father’s hatred and his blood so that he could touch Ian’s hand in public, so he could smile at him and not be afraid. 

“Boys,” Fiona called. “You two better not be fooling around in there. Ian, you better be packed, or we’re going to be late.”

“Jesus, Fiona,” Ian yelled back, right in Mickey’s fucking ear, and Mickey reached up to cover Ian’s mouth with his hand to save his ears from permanent damage inflicted by Ian’s goddamn vocal cords.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Mickey hissed. “Gonna fucking burst my eardrum.” 

Ian laughed into Mickey’s hand. “One second,” he yelled again, his voice muffled by Mickey’s fingers. Mickey removed his hand and stepped back, giving Ian a dirty look the whole time. 

Ian launched himself forward and kissed the frown right off Mickey’s face, the soft press of his lips making Mickey’s stomach do fucking gymnastics. He used to hate that shit, the stupid fluttery butterflies, until they made him run back into that van all those years ago and kiss Ian, and he’d like to say that he’d kept running and never looked back, but he hadn’t. Things got terrible and complicated and they started running in two different directions, except that didn’t really matter anymore, because everything had changed and Mickey decided not to hate those butterflies and he was kissing Ian now, in their goddamn bedroom. 

“Gonna miss you,” Ian admitted quietly, tracing his thumb over Mickey’s skin, where his fingers were hooked around Mickey’s ear. He always held Mickey’s face in his hands when they kissed, always held him steady, and that was a good thing, because otherwise Mickey would probably fall. 

Mickey bit his lip, holding in words he didn’t know how to say, but he did let out a tiny smile. He pointed towards the door. “Get out there. Or Fiona’s gonna be pissed.” Mickey’s voice didn’t sound as casual as he wanted it to be, it cracked a little, because Ian was gonna miss him and he could just say that shit out loud.

Ian nodded and slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. He opened the door and Mickey followed him out, saying hello to Fiona in unison and walking outside to the truck. Ian stuck his stuff in the backseat and Fiona climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“You have your license, right?” Mickey asked Fiona.

“Oh my fucking god,” Fiona laughed. “I’m a good driver. He’s gonna be fine.”

Mickey mumbled some half-ass excuse under his breath about why he wanted to know, but he knew he wasn’t fooling them. Ian smirked at him, his face lit up in the early morning sunshine. Ian was like Mickey’s own fucking miniature sun, and _Christ_ , that was a dumb thing to think about, but Mickey’s brain didn’t exactly cooperate when it came to Ian. 

Ian wound his way around the truck to the passenger side and Mickey stood on the sidewalk, restless and unsure, tapping his finger against his arm. He was bad at goodbyes. Even if it was only two days. 

_Fuck it_ , Mickey thought. 

“Give me a fucking hug,” he said, stepping across the pavement to the curb of the sidewalk, watching Ian’s face get even brighter, if that was possible. He looked surprised for a moment, his eyes searching Mickey’s face, like he was making sure that Mickey was serious. 

Mickey decided to show him how serious he was. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders, crushing their chests together and burying his head in Ian’s neck. The way Ian’s arms felt around his body was warm and strong and wonderful, but there was also something indescribable about it, like his world was tilting on its axis, except it was righting itself, like everything before it had been wrong and this was how the world was supposed to be. 

_God_ , Ian’s arms around him. It was intoxicating, but Mickey figured there were worse things to be addicted to. Mickey’s life had been prison, for a long time. Hell, he’d actually been locked up in juvie twice, but even that had been a breeze compared to the chains his father had him in, chains he’d been in until Ian helped him get free. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Mickey muttered into Ian’s neck, his words barely above a whisper and muffled by the fabric of Ian’s jacket. 

Ian heard him, anyways, he probably had a fucking spidey sense that detected whenever Mickey felt like a total sap. 

He didn’t say anything, but he pulled Mickey a bit closer and dropped a kiss into his hair. 

Mickey heard Fiona groan from the front seat, and he’d almost forgotten she was there, and there was still some cautious instinct inside him that told him to pull away from Ian. He ignored it.

“Enough with the feelings crap,” she called. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

They untangled themselves then, but Mickey kept his eyes glued to Ian’s face. 

“Two days,” Ian said. “I’ll call.”

“Okay,” replied Mickey, nudging his toe against a weed creeping up through the broken sidewalk to distract himself. “That doctor better know what the fuck she’s talking about.”

Ian laughed, a quick little huff of breath that was impossible not to smile at. “I’m sure she does.”

He lifted his hand up in goodbye and Mickey mirrored him. Ian turned towards the truck and wrenched the passenger door open, and he started to say something to Fiona. 

Mickey cut him off. He darted forward and spun Ian around by the shoulder, sealing their mouths together on his own goddamn street, in broad daylight, and he didn’t regret it for an instant. 

He was gonna miss Ian, even if it was just a weekend, but he knew he was always gonna come back. He was some goddamn version of a boomerang and Mickey thanked his lucky stars for that everyday.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt,  _did not_  sit by the phone, waiting for it to ring. He totally didn’t turn up the volume on the ringer to make sure he heard it and he didn’t check the screen every two seconds to make sure he hadn’t missed a call from Ian.

That would’ve been ridiculous.

“That damn thing’s gonna explode if you keep staring at it,” Mandy said.

Mickey hurriedly shoved his phone in his pocket, scrambling for a moment before looking up at Mandy, an innocent look on his face.

“What?”

She put her hands on her hips and stared at him knowingly. Well, more like stared right through him. Mandy always had a knack for seeing past Mickey’s bullshit, she had some weirdo little-sister magic that kinda drove him crazy.

“Mickey,” she said, “He’s gonna be fine. He’s like a state away. Why don’t you fucking call him?”

“He’s supposed to call me,” Mickey said, quietly.

“Then he will.” She pushed a plate of eggs towards him, the fork balancing precariously on the edge. “Here. Breakfast for dinner.”

Mickey took the plate and thanked her. He shook some salt onto the eggs and started shoveling them into his mouth, laughing at the look of utter disgust on Mandy’s face.

“Mmphf,” he said. “These are good.”

“That’s disgusting,” Mandy groaned. “Close your fucking mouth.”

He picked up a piece of egg and chucked it at her, because what were older brothers for, if not for throwing food at their younger siblings. Mandy ducked and glared at him.

“Do that again and you’re dead.”

Mickey did it again.

Mandy lunged across the table with her hands outstretched just as Mickey’s phone began to ring. He dodged her and fumbled with his pocket, drawing out his phone and pressing the green button.

“Ian?” he answered, and then Mandy’s hands finally reached him and thwacked him on the shoulder. “Ow!”

Ian laughed on the other end. “Didn’t know hearing my voice was so painful.”

“No. Your voice is really nice,” Mickey said accidentally.

Now Mandy was laughing too. He flipped her off.

“You didn’t hear that.”

That made both of them laugh even harder. Mickey ran a hand through his hair and contemplated why the two people he loved most were annoying as fuck. He probably didn’t help enough old ladies cross the street as a kid or something.

Mickey sighed.

“Make it to Detroit okay?”

Ian’s laughter died out slowly. Mickey tapped his foot against the leg of the kitchen table impatiently. “Yeah,” he said. “We survived. Fiona didn’t crash the car or anything.”

“Good,” muttered Mickey. “I probably would’ve missed your stupid voice or something.”

“Clearly.”

He could practically hear Ian’s grin through the phone. Mickey shoveled another bite of eggs into his mouth, waiting for Ian to say something else. He didn’t though, he just smiled through the fucking phone and Mickey sat on the other end, trying not to smile like a fucking idiot too, through his mouthful of eggs.

“You feeling okay?” he asked, finally.

“Yeah,” Ian said, after a beat. “Still feel kinda nauseous after I take my meds. And really fucking tired. But okay, overall. Hopefully this doctor can help with that.”

“She will,” he replied, assuredly.

Mickey wasn’t really one for positivity, but he knew what Ian needed to hear, and anyways, Ian made him throw everything he thought he knew about himself out the window. Or maybe he just uncovered stuff about Mickey that he had tried to bury deep, under cold, frozen ground, stuff Mickey had wanted to hide until Ian had come along. But Mickey didn’t know, he wasn’t a fucking psychologist or anything. He just knew that Ian made him do stupid stuff, made him say things he never thought he would, made him feel things he once thought were impossible.

Ian peeled back his layers and Mickey surprisingly liked what he found underneath. So did Ian, apparently, and Mickey was still sorta in awe of that, but he’d more or less gotten used to it by now. Sometimes it would hit him, in a tiny jolt of wonder, how far they’d come, how fucking deeply in love with him Mickey pretended not to be, how Ian had come back and how he was staying, for good.

“So, what are you wearing?” Ian asked, breaking Mickey out of his thoughts. Mickey spit out his mouthful of eggs onto the table, sputtering and coughing, because he was the least smooth motherfucker in the world and Ian was the smoothest.

“Mandy is right here,” he hissed, when he finally stopped coughing.

Mandy held up her hands, a disgusted look on her face. “Oh, fuck no,” she said. “This is not happening in the kitchen. Jesus. Keep it clean.”

“Can I talk to her?”

Mickey shoved the receiver towards his sister, ignoring her remarks about the kitchen. “Mandy, wait. Ian wants to talk to you.”

She took it and held it up to her ear. “Hey Ian.”

Ian said something on the other end that Mickey couldn’t hear and Mandy laughed. She started walking towards the door, disappearing with Ian and the phone into her bedroom, probably to go gossip or tell Ian how Mickey was mooning over him all afternoon (he  _wasn’t_ ), or whatever the fuck they always talked about.

Mickey realized he probably wasn’t gonna get the phone back for a while, so he went to check on Yevgeny. He’d put him down for a bed a while ago, but the kid sometimes had a hard time falling asleep. Svetlana was much better at helping him fall asleep, but Mickey had discovered that reading a few books to him usually helped. It was stupid, because it didn’t matter what the books were (he’d even read him a chapter of  _Harry Potter_  once, after Debbie had accidentally left one of her books), and it wasn’t like he could actually understand the words, but something about hearing Mickey’s voice read over a page put Yevgeny to sleep. Mickey didn’t know what to think about that.

Yevgeny was, thankfully, sound asleep in his crib. Mickey checked the baby monitor to make sure it was on (Ian had brought the set over from the Gallaghers, apparently they had a couple and Ian said no one would notice if one went missing). He watched Yev’s tiny chest rise and fall for a few moments, before turning around and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He went into the living room and sat down on the couch, fiddling around with the television clicker to entertain himself. Mandy’s laughter drifted in from her bedroom and it kinda made him smile. Not much made Mandy laugh these days, but Ian always had a special knack for it.

Mickey sat back and drifted off to the sound of his sister’s voice, the way he did when he was younger and things with their father got particularly bad, and they would take turns talking each other to sleep, because the prospect of falling asleep to Terry’s yelling or the deathly quiet of their house was too scary.

Maybe Yevgeny’s whole obsession with being read to before bed made sense after all.

\---

“Mickey,” Mandy said, prodding him awake. “Your turn.”

“He was asleep,” she said into the phone, as Mickey sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I got a picture. It’s  _adorable_. I’ll send it to you.”

“Fuck you, Mandy.”

Mandy giggled and said goodbye to Ian, placing the phone into Mickey’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t listen to anything she says,” Mickey told him, pressing it tight up against his ear so he could hear every decibel of Ian’s laugh.

“You  _are_  adorable when you’re asleep. Not so much when you wake up though. You’re too mean and grouchy,” said Ian.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Mmm,” Ian sighed. “Maybe I will. I think you’d want to help though, right?”

Mickey could feel himself flush red, all the way down to his toes, and he was really glad Mandy wasn’t in the room anymore to see him blush. He thought about it for a second, but then he yawned and made up his mind.

“Sorry,” Mickey murmured. “Too tired for that. Tomorrow night though, okay?”

“Okay,” Ian said happily, “Tomorrow.”

Mickey yawned again. “Tell me about the trip.” He just wanted to hear Ian talk, wanted to let his voice wash over him, wanted to pretend that Ian was next to him, curling a hand over his shoulder as they fell asleep together.

Ian didn’t say anything about that, but he seemed to understand.

He told Mickey about the drive, and the sketchy motel Fiona had booked for them, and the crappy roadside food they’d eaten for dinner. He told him that he was nervous for tomorrow and that he was happy to talk to Fiona again, really talk to her, and  _Christ_ , it hadn’t even been 24 hours and Mickey already missed hearing Ian’s stupid voice in person.

There was a lull in the conversation and Mickey was almost asleep, his eyes drooping slowly. He had thought about moving to his bedroom and laying down there, but the prospect of sleeping on his bed by himself, without Ian - after all these weeks of Ian holding him tightly against his warm chest - was vastly unappealing.

“Miss you,” he slurred out sleepily, his brain saying dumb things on the edge of sleep, like it always did. He couldn’t help whispering shit like this when the world was fuzzy and he was almost asleep. Every careful defense he had in place seemed to magically disappear and he forgot why he could never fucking say these things to Ian in the first place, forgot what was so scary about a bunch of words.

“I know,” Ian said. He took a breath. “Night, Mickey.”

“Good luck tomorrow,” Mickey whispered back. “Night.” He listened to Ian’s breathing for a few moments more, before the line went dead.

There was an  _I love you_  missing, one that Mickey so desperately wanted to say, but couldn’t. He didn’t have enough courage to dig those words out of his chest, not yet.

Not yet.

He hung up the phone and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will prob be more of this idk


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey heard the truck pull into the driveway Monday morning, and his eyes snapped open and he shot off the couch in a hurry. He ran into the bedroom and mussed up the covers a bit, because Ian would totally know what was up if their bed looked untouched, exactly the same as when he left, and Mickey wasn’t about to deal with Ian knowing that he hadn’t wanted to sleep in their empty bed. He’d never hear the end of it.

He casually sat down at the kitchen table and pretended not to glance out the window every five seconds to see if Ian and Fiona were coming up the front steps yet. He thought about going outside to greet them, but he didn’t want to seem too eager. Mickey had a reputation to maintain. Even if Ian totally knew it was bullshit.

The key turned in the lock and Mickey busied himself with the mail on the table, only looking up when Ian called his name from the doorway. He turned his head around slowly.

“Hey,” he said, running his eyes over Ian a few times. He looked fine and happy and better than ever. Jeez, Mickey was such a sap. Ian had only been gone  _two_  fucking days.

“Hi,” grinned Ian.

He strode across the room and pulled Mickey out of the chair by the shoulders, curling his hands around Mickey’s face and kissing him hard, taking Mickey by surprise. He didn’t even get to kiss Ian back.

“O-okay,” Mickey stuttered out unsteadily, and then he kissed Ian again, letting himself melt against Ian’s mouth for a few moments before pulling back. “Cool.”

Ian let his bag slip off his shoulder and fall onto the table. Mickey couldn’t stop staring at Ian’s lips, at his mouth, at his stupid face.

“How was Chicago?” Ian asked, breaking Mickey out of his trance.

He sighed. “Boring as hell. Mandy and I even tried to bake a cake. That’s how fucking boring it was.”

Ian laughed, bright and clear, and it was all Mickey could do not to watch the laughter spread over Ian’s face, watch the corners of his eyes crinkle and his teeth flash and his pale eyelashes flit up and down. Mickey could listen to Ian’s laugh forever and never get tired of it, and he kinda hoped he would get to hear this kid’s laughter for the rest of his life.

 _Yeah, that’d go over well,_  Mickey thought,  _Marry me, because I can’t get enough of the way you laugh._

Fuck, Ian would probably think it was romantic.

“How was Detroit?” asked Mickey, trying to get his thoughts off their dangerous path.

Ian shrugged. “Good, I think. The doctor talked a lot and Fiona asked a lot of questions, but she suggested some alternatives to my medications that don’t have as bad side effects. She wants me to write down a bunch of shit like how I feel and my sleeping patterns and stuff and call her every couple of weeks to check up.”

“Better get you a journal then.” Mickey said.

“Okay,” Ian answered. “She was nice. Good at explaining stuff. And me and Fiona got along, so that was good.” He paused, lowering his eyes. “I missed you though.”

“Cut it out,” Mickey whined. “I know.”

“We should go on a trip some time. Just the two of us. Save money for gas, borrow the truck, sleep under the stars.”

Mickey smiled down at the floor. “Alright, Little Miss Sunshine. We’ll see.” He waved his hand towards the door. “Go help your sister unpack.”

Ian turned on his heel and headed towards the door and Mickey followed him, pulling open the heavy front door to go help Fiona. They hadn’t brought much stuff so it wasn’t very hard, but they grabbed some extra food from the back and dragged it inside, leaving Fiona with the rest to bring it back to the Gallagher house.

It quickly turned into a contest of who was stronger and could carry more, which Mickey  _totally_  won, and Fiona rolled her eyes at them and grabbed more than both of them combined.

“Damn, Fi,” Ian said, laughing. “Work out a lot in prison?”

“Shut up.” She put down the stuff in the kitchen and smacked Ian in the arm. Mickey watched, amused. “Gotta be strong to be a waitress. Lots of heavy stuff to carry.”

Fiona turned to leave, but Ian stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Thanks,” he said softly, “For going with me. And stuff.”

She grinned at Ian. “Of course. No problem.” Fiona held out her arms and Ian stepped forward, wrapping himself around her.

Mickey shifted on his feet, and he had the uncomfortable feeling of watching something incredibly private, but then Fiona lifted her head and waved a hand towards Mickey.

“Get in here,” she called. Mickey scrunched up his forehead and gave her a look, but she just laughed and waved again.

“Fuck it,” Mickey muttered under his breath. He stepped forward and plastered himself against Ian’s back, resting his head in the space between Ian’s head and the slope of his shoulder and wrapping his arms around both Ian and Fiona.

He only lasted for a few moments, because Mickey wasn’t some weirdo-mushy-hug-freak like the Gallagher siblings, but it was still nice, it still made something in Mickey’s chest feel a little bit lighter.

Fiona and Ian pulled apart too and said goodbye and then it was just Ian and Mickey alone in the kitchen again.

Ian leaned back against the counter, fixing his eyes on Mickey in the way that made Mickey’s traitorous heart go from zero to sixty without any warning. “I missed you. I really did.”

“Will you stop fucking saying that?” Mickey said, exasperated. “Shut up.”

And he did shut Ian up, by darting across the kitchen and pressing his lips to Ian’s, before he could say anymore ridiculous things. He wound his hands in Ian’s hair and held him tight and wondered why he ever thought that being in love with Ian would be bad or scary or difficult.

(Ian figured out about the couch thing anyways, later that night, when they scrambled towards the bed, kissing and half-undressed and touching everywhere they could, and Ian noticed that Mickey’s pillow was missing, because Mickey was a fucking idiot and forgot to put his pillow back. Mickey glared at Ian’s knowing look and ran a hand down his chest to distract him. Ian promptly forgot all about it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end~ thanks for leaving comments and kudos and stuff! you guys are awesome :)


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